The Rebel

by C. J. Archer

  "I didn't order Nick to do anything. I assigned him this kill, but he could choose whether to take the assignment or not." He shrugged. "Every man who works for me has a choice in everything they do. Some choices will see them expelled from the Guild." His gaze slid to Orlando then back to Lucy. "I can't tell you what Renny did. That information was given to me in confidence, and I only passed it on to the Guild's current members because they need to agree with me that the target is guilty. If one of us is unsure, then we don't go through with it, or we try to find out more. Suffice to say, Renny's guilt was beyond question and his crimes were despicable. The victims have their reasons for not wanting to pursue the matter through proper legal channels. Renny is powerful in Larkham, and they are not."

  The weight on her chest lifted a little but was replaced with the feeling that the world had been tipped on its head.

  "They're good men," Susanna said. "I would not have fallen in love with Orlando if he wasn't."

  "It's a lot to take in," Lucy said, "but it explains a few things." Like why Nick had been carrying so many knives, and why he had extraordinarily keen senses. "Thank you for telling me," she said to Lord Oxley. "I appreciate your trust in me."

  "I'm sure you can understand our lives depend on the Guild's existence staying secret," he said.

  "I understand. However, I do have one question. Orlando, you told Nick that he was an assassin that day you came to the farm, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he believe you?"

  Orlando shrugged. "I think so."

  "Why?" Susanna asked Lucy. "What is it?"

  "He seemed a little troubled after that conversation and in the days since," Lucy said, "but nothing compared to… " Last night. "Today. It's as if he woke up and decided to be a different person."

  "I think the different person was the one you witnessed," Oxley said. "The Cole you spoke of is foreign to us."

  She wasn't getting drawn into that discussion again. "Nevertheless, the fact remains that it wasn't discovering he was an assassin that flipped Nick back to his old self. It was— Oh. Oh no."

  "What?" all three asked.

  "He's been having nightmares about his past. Each one has revealed a little more about a period of time when he was eighteen."

  "The point at which his memories stopped?" Susanna asked.

  "Yes. And I think last night's nightmare filled in the final piece of the puzzle. It may have even triggered the return of all his memories."

  "Hence the return to the true Cole," Oxley said.

  "No," she snapped. "Not the true Nick. I refuse to believe it."

  Susanna's hand tightened around Lucy's, but she would not be calmed. Why did the earl refuse to believe that there was more to Cole than the man he'd known for only four years? It was as if he didn't want to entertain the thought that Nick may be as gentle-hearted and amiable as Orlando, for instance.

  Oxley didn't show any sign that he'd heard her. He stared down at the floor, his elbows still on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees.

  "Do either of you have any clue as to what happened when he was eighteen?" Lucy asked both men. "What troubles him so?"

  "I don't know," Orlando said. "He never confided in me. I didn't even know his full name until he told me the other day. Hughe?"

  "I don't know either," Lord Oxley said without looking up. "He told me very little, and I was never able to discover much about him. Did he tell you anything about his dreams, Mistress Cowdrey?"

  "Some. His father forbade him and his brother to leave the house and immediate grounds, but Nick escaped into the village one day. He was whipped for his disobedience." Lucy's stomach churned. "He was whipped again for going with two village boys into the wood. The scars are still visible on his back." She closed her eyes, breathed until the wave of nausea subsided. Susanna's reassuring hand squeezed again.

  "Good lord," Susanna said. "How horrid. Why would his father do that?"

  "I don't know. He hasn't spoken about the nightmares for two days."

  "You think he had one last night that revealed more?" Oxley asked.

  "I'm almost certain of it. What he learned must have shaken him to the core. Enough to change him."

  Oxley sat back and rubbed his thigh. "Whatever happened, it's of concern, but I have a more immediate problem."

  "Aye," Orlando said, grim. "His attacker."

  "Attackers," Lucy said. "There were two."

  Orlando swore softly. Oxley continued to rub his thigh as if it pained him. "Someone knows he killed Renny and wants revenge."

  "But why not simply tell the Larkham authorities?" Lucy asked.

  "A good question."

  "Could it be a family member who doesn't think the authorities will succeed?" Susanna asked. "Or friends?"

  Oxley shrugged. "Renny was a powerful man but not overly liked except by a very few who benefited from his leadership within the village. It may have been they. As to family, he had only a wife and young sons. There were no brothers, sisters or cousins to speak of."

  "It must be his friends then," Lucy said.

  Oxley didn't look convinced. "From what I saw of them, they were too well-fed and idle to be agile or quiet enough to sneak up on Cole. The man's never fully asleep even though he may appear to be."

  "That's because he's not human," Orlando said and chuckled.

  His wife shot him a glare, and he sobered.

  "You've been to Larkham?" Lucy asked.

  "Of course," Oxley said, standing. "I always investigate the targets thoroughly first. In disguise of course."

  She eyed him up and down. What sort of disguise would hide that hair, the air of confident arrogance? Then she remembered the Larkham men had said Renny's killer was pale and bearded with long brown hair, nothing at all like Nick. Oxley and his men must be very good at hiding themselves in plain view.

  Oxley strode toward the door and Lucy sprang out of the chair. "Where are you going, my lord?"

  "To your farm. We need to get Cole into hiding as soon as possible."

  She lifted her skirts and ran after him.

  ***

  "Rest a while," Henry said. "Save your strength for your journey." He gave Cole a crooked smile that Cole managed to return despite the heaviness inside him. He passed the wineskin back, and Henry drank deeply.

  "As soon as this field is done, I'll go," Cole said. "I shouldn't wait any longer."

  "I still can't convince you to stay? These attacks may be a misunderstanding. I can't imagine you've done anything to warrant such ire. Surely it could all be resolved with a simple discussion."

  "I doubt it."

  "How can you be sure if you can't remember?"

  Cole's blood throbbed, and his head ached. "It's better for everyone if I go."

  "How will that solve anything? Do you propose to return for Lucy under cover of nightfall?"

  The hot sun beat down on the top of Cole's head. He didn't wear a hat because he'd removed the bandage and didn't want it to rub on the raw wound.

  Henry swore. "You're not coming back, are you?"

  Cole said nothing.

  "I should thrash you, but I doubt I could." He turned away, and Cole thought he was going to walk off, but he turned back again. His lips were pinched and white, and Cole had never seen such cold fury in Henry's eyes. "You're a heartless prick, Coleclough. My sister is the best of women, the kindest you'll ever meet and she's in love with you. Any fool can see it. Christ, I thought it was bad when Mallam broke their betrothal, but this is going to be so much worse."

  Cole waited. Henry waited too as if he expected Cole to say something, perhaps defend himself. He did not. There was no defense for what he'd done to Lucy.

  "She's going to shed a lot of tears, but you are not worth them," Henry snapped. "Neither you nor Mallam deserve a moment of her love. You're both the same. Both as heartless as the other."

  "We're not the same." Mallam didn't care enough. Cole cared too much.

  Fuck. Fu
ck, fuck, fuck!

  He looked down at the newly plowed earth beneath his feet. He couldn't look at Henry any more and see the anger and frustration in his eyes.

  The distant rumble of cartwheels made him look up. If Lucy had come to speak to him again, Cole would be undone once and for all. He couldn't continue to remain impassive if she pleaded with him to take her.

  If it were his attackers instead…

  "What is it?" Henry asked.

  "I have to leave."

  "Now?"

  "Yes." He clasped Henry's forearm. He wanted to tell him to take care of Lucy, but it went without saying.

  Henry's mutter was lost beneath shouts and hoof beats. Cole glanced at the track and swore. The cartwheels had drowned out the sound of the horses galloping ahead in an advance party. Four horses in all. Two carried the Larkham authorities, Sawyer and Upfield, and riding behind were two boys. They must be no more than thirteen or fourteen. He recognized one as the lad who'd come to the barn looking for work.

  Everything clicked into place like two cogs turning slowly in harmonization. Hell. He needed to get out of there, but he couldn't outrun them through the open fields. He'd have to fight. Not an easy task with both men and boys unsheathing their swords. The boys shouldn't be a problem, but the men were an unknown.

  Henry went to meet them as the cart rolled to a stop. "Good morrow," he said as the horses came to a halt in a cloud of dust. "Is there a need for weapons, sirs?"

  "Move aside," Upfield snarled. The older of the Larkham men had a vicious, untamed look about him. Cole would deal with him first.

  "We've come to arrest him," Sawyer said, pointing the sword at Cole.

  Henry seemed to take the words like a blow to the stomach. He stepped back and glanced over his shoulder at Cole. He blinked hard as if he couldn't quite see, or didn't believe what he saw. "On what charge?" he asked.

  "Murder."

  One of the boys moved his horse forward, but Sawyer held a hand out to stay him. "He killed Alderman Renny," the boy said. "Our father."

  CHAPTER 15

  Cole's bruises had never ached so much. His head throbbed fiercely too, as if his brain was trying to break through the crack in his head.

  "You did it," he said to the bigger of the two boys, the one who'd spoken. "You attacked me in the meadow."

  "We both did," the younger chimed in.

  Two lads. That explained how they inflicted so much damage so quickly, and being light of foot, they'd crept up on him. He thought it had been Lucy approaching, and coupled with his exhaustion, he'd not remained as alert as he should. Bloody fool. He deserved the crack on his head.

  "Come quietly, and there'll be no need for violence," Sawyer said.

  Upfield's lip curled into a warped grin. He looked like he had every intention of using violence.

  "Stay back," Cole said to Henry. "Keep your men away." The farm laborers had ceased working and watched the performance. They were far enough away that they couldn't hear, however, or interfere. One less thing for Cole to worry about.

  "Will you come with us willingly?" Sawyer asked. "No one will be hurt that way."

  Only Cole when a trial found him guilty, which it undoubtedly would.

  "Wait." Henry held up his hands, placating. "You have witnesses?"

  "Many."

  "What did they see?"

  Sawyer shrugged. "This man killing Renny."

  "This man? Did they describe him exactly?" Spoken like a true lawyer.

  "Exactly?" Sawyer's horse shifted and turned, making the other three twitch restlessly too.

  "Come now," Henry said in the placating tone Cole had heard him use on Lucy to good effect. "I know you cannot be positive it was Coleclough here, otherwise you would have arrested him the first time."

  "He used a disguise!" the older boy shouted. "Frankie saw him take it off."

  "I was sitting on the bank of the stream near the mill when I saw a man run up that night," the boy said. "I got scared and hid. You came up real close, but I didn't make a sound, not even when you took off your hair and beard. Almost fell in the stream, I was that surprised. Then you bent down near me and washed your face. It was too dark to see proper, but your face was darker than before you washed it."

  A good lawyer would question the lad, put doubt in his head, but Henry remained silent. He looked down at his feet, shook his head and said absolutely nothing.

  He had abandoned Cole. As he should if he wanted to keep his family and workers safe. It's what any law-abiding Englishman would do faced with such compelling evidence.

  "He came home and told me," the older boy said, "but I didn't believe him."

  "Fool," Frankie said with a roll of his eyes.

  "I thought it was just something he made up. Anyway, I hadn't heard about Pa then." His voice cracked, and he pursed his lips, a young lad trying to be brave in front of men.

  "When they told us what happened, I knew Frankie spoke the truth." He started to cry and swiped his nose with the back of his hand. "You killed our Pa."

  It was a bloody nightmare. This was why Cole always left money for his target's families. Why he never wanted to see them, connect with them.

  As if money could ever be enough. Of anyone, Cole knew it meant nothing compared to the loss of a parent.

  If the boys knew what their father had been like, perhaps they'd think differently. They seemed like good lads. Yet he couldn't tell them he'd been given a clean death, which is more than what he deserved. They shouldn't have to hear that. It was better to think of one's parent as a good soul when alive, instead of a mad one.

  Cole knew that all too well.

  Upfield dismounted and raised his sword. He had a steady stance, a good grip. He knew what he was doing. "Enough talking! Get in the cart, Coleclough."

  Cole nodded and ambled up to him. "Where are you taking me?"

  Upfield opened his mouth to answer, but Cole slammed his fist into his jaw before he'd uttered a single word. He snatched the sword off Upfield while he was too busy picking his barrel-like frame off the ground.

  "Dismount," Cole said to Sawyer.

  "Stay back!" Sawyer shouted at the lads as he set his feet on the ground.

  Neither of the brothers moved. Their horses shifted as if sensing danger.

  Sawyer engaged, and Cole parried the first two blows easily enough. The man was a middling swordsman, but he didn't use his feet well.

  "Peter, give me your sword," Upfield ordered the oldest brother.

  Peter shook his head, his wild gaze fixed on Cole, his teeth bared in a snarl. He was bent on revenge, and Cole suspected he wouldn't be sated until he got it.

  Upfield swore then turned to Frankie. He held out his hand, and the younger boy handed over his sword. He swallowed heavily and gripped the reins tight.

  Upfield stepped into the fight, and Cole had to concentrate. He blocked strike after strike and managed to get some good ones of his own in, nicking a sleeve here or a doublet there. He didn't want to kill either of them, although he had a mind to scare the wits out of Upfield.

  "Stand still," the older man growled. He pressed his hand into his side and breathed hard.

  Cole had turned so much that Henry was now in his line of sight. Cole was right where he wanted to be—near the two horses. The lads were a little behind him, but he would hear them coming if they decided to attack.

  Indeed, Peter made a lot of noise. He sounded like an ancient warrior, his battle cry high-pitched and loud. When Cole gauged him to be right behind, he ducked and rolled to the side in the dirt. He hit the ground harder than he'd hoped and pain speared through him, up into his head.

  Then everything turned to fog. Shadows rolled in. He thrust out the sword, struck nothing but air, but the shape moved back. White-hot pain seared his skull, and he fought the panic as darkness flirted with him.

  "Frankie, no!" That was Peter, the older brother.

  Where the hell was Frankie? If Cole struck out and hit the boy, he'd ne
ver forgive himself. He put the sword down and held up his hands. "I can't see," he said.

  "Could be a trick," said Upfield.

  "Don't be a fool." That was Henry. He was closer than Cole expected. His face slowly came into focus, grim set. The world brightened again, but the screaming pain in his head remained.

  He was hoisted up by Upfield and the driver. Cole could have fought them off, but there was no point. Sawyer would mow him down, perhaps the oldest lad too. And more people were coming. He heard wheels and horses approaching fast.

  "Someone comes," said Sawyer. "Get him on the cart."

  "Lucy." Henry swore.

  Cole closed his eyes to gather himself. He would need all of the iron will he was renowned for, and more.

  "Who's with her?" Henry asked at the same time Cole opened his eyes. "Are they your friends?"

  Hughe and Monk. A bit bloody late.

  "Nick!" Lucy screamed. She jumped off the cart before it had completely stopped and ran toward him.

  "Lucy, don't," Henry said, catching her.

  She struggled against him, but he held her and she finally calmed. Her wide eyes, however, filled with desperation. "What's happening? Where are you taking him?"

  Hughe and Monk rode up, and Henry briefly explained the situation to them all. His friends remained passive, did nothing, as Cole expected. They couldn't risk becoming too involved.

  "No!" Lucy cried. "You can't take him!" She struggled anew, twisting in Henry's arms, stamping on his foot until he let her go.

  She ran toward Cole, tears streaming down her face. Without letting go of Cole, Upfield thrust out a hand and shoved her in the chest. She fell backward and landed on the ground. Her hat slipped off, and her hair tumbled about her face.

  Cole wrenched himself out of the driver's grip, swung, and smashed his fist into Upfield's nose. Blood sprayed and Upfield bent over double. He cupped both hands over his face and made strangled gasping sounds.

  Unfettered, Cole stepped forward and shrugged off the driver as he went to recapture him. The driver didn't try again. Cole held out his hand to Lucy and she took it. Dusty tears streaked her cheeks, and her lip trembled.